


i want somebody to say it

by circuitricardoporno



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Ineptitude, M/M, Panic, Slow Burn, contract angst, hand holding, maybe one day touching the d, or can they?, stupid mole hamster children who cannot get it together, you will have to find out - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 21:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11632542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circuitricardoporno/pseuds/circuitricardoporno
Summary: It starts with a joke, of course. Or maybe it didn’t really - it had started a long time before either of them even worked up the courage to joke about it. It was probably already several stages too far when it was enough of a thing for that.





	i want somebody to say it

It starts with a joke, of course. Or maybe it didn’t really - it had started a long time before either of them even worked up the courage to joke about it. It was probably already several stages too far when _it_ was enough of a thing for that.

It’s easy to joke that Robin is his wife, that they see each other more than most couples, that he knows Robin well enough that it wouldn’t even seem like a sham marriage. It’s true - it almost feels like he’s going mad, they spend so much time together. Ant feels like he’s woken up in a plane or car or garage to Robin more times than he has in his own bed - probably because it has to be true, from his calendar. Or well, the calendar he now uses.

It kind of feels like they live in each other’s pockets. So maybe he’s just lost his fucking mind and is imposing things in retrospect that wouldn’t hold up to reality if they just spent five fucking minutes away from each other. But it’s kind of always been a thing - and now it’s a thing they make jokes about.

Maybe that’s the safe thing to do. They joke about it and don’t actually do it. He’s not actually going to start holding hands with Robin during long roadtrips, rubbing Robin’s back when Ant can see the tension in him, craving Robin’s touch, his physical presence.

Except that he’s obviously doing all of those things, with a side-order of frenetic shower wanking over a whole set of other options. But hey, here they are, in Robin’s car, holding hands in the well over the gearstick.

This isn’t very good driving protocol, is what he keeps thinking. Robin probably should have switched down to fourth for that junction, at the very least and yet neither of them let go of each other’s fingers.

Ant keeps reminding himself to breathe. They’re still chatting - it’s just that every time he stops talking he’s closing his mouth and holding his breath like the gap is too much, like he’s trying to shut himself down, sharply drawing in air before he next speaks.

“Anyway, I don’t know what I’m doing I guess? Like I wanted to think I was gonna have a much clearer idea by the end of this season and it’s just getting vaguer - like what is even going on with the team? Maybe nothing? But I’ve got the Audi thing maybe that’d be ok - Lucas and Loic are better though, ugh.”

“They’re not better than you - you’re the best.” It comes out in a rush and he wants to slam his head off the glovebox for how fucking _stupid_ it sounds. Taking the piss out of Robin is safe - sort of - but they _never_ praise each other directly. Not like that, anyway - maybe a ‘nice lap’ or whatever, a friendly slap for beating each other in the simulator.

He feels more than sees, in his peripherary , Robin glance over at him. He needs, very urgently, to say something else, to blurt anything out into the space and for a second his brain and mouth just completely jam, some awful conversational lockup.

“We’ll be fine anyway, they’re not getting rid of us.” Fuck, fuck, no - stop talking about _them_ for fuck’s sake.

“Well they’re not getting rid of you, anyway.” Robin shrugs and he feels it down his arm, to their joined hands. “I ...maybe I should do some WEC - weck? Weck? Do you say weck?”

Ant can’t help himself laughing, it sounds even more ridiculous in Robin’s soft Dutch accent, desperately relieved the tension has broken. “I don’t know - I think Sam does. Weck? Weck. Weck weck weck - ugh, it’s horrible.”

Robin’s saying it too and for a second he has a terrible image of them both as Muppets characters, quacking at each other, that makes him crack up so much he’s about to try to explain it to Robin when the Dutchman drags their hands across, deliberately puts Ant’s on his thigh and leaves it there to finally change gear for a roundabout.

“Uhm,” Ant can’t stop it coming out of his mouth, thanks every round of batak he’s ever had to do for the fact he saves it. “At least they haven’t shipped you out to DTM.”

“Ugh yeah Loic looks like he’s really fucking enjoying that.” How is Robin behaving so calmly? Ant is trying to stop his palm sweating, against the fleecy fabric on Robin’s thigh. “Put some music on?”

He isn’t sure which hand to use. His right is awkward but he doesn’t want to take the left off Robin’s thigh because he’s not sure he can put it back after. Did Robin do it absentmindedly? God, try not to pick anything romantic - _definitely_ no slow jams. But like, not too jokey - he doesn’t want to go with cock rock or something and fuck up whatever the mood is.

What screams “I am too nervous to have sex with you probably ever but am enjoying my hand being on your leg, in a kind of panicked way?” Ant goes with a Portuguese indie band on the basis at least Robin doesn’t know what the lyrics mean, so it’s only himself he has to torture with the awkward romance narrative.

Robin has very nice legs. Extremely warm legs, also, which is not helping the moist palm situation but especially ever since his injury Ant’s had to spend quite a lot of time thinking about Robin’s legs. Previously he’d been quite preoccupied with Robin’s arse - and the curve of his shoulders, the little almost-a-cowlick of hair behind his ears.

“Wish we were teammates in Blancpain too.” Robin pronounces it funny, it always catches him out for a second. “It’s confusing remembering we don’t share a garage, you’re going to have to join Audi.”

“Or you can join BMW, then it’s all sorted with the team.” Join Audi, what an absolute liberty.

“They’d have to buy me out - I have no idea what Audi want to _do_ with me but I’ve got the contract.” Robin adjusts his sunglasses and Ant realises he’s turned round to stare at him, which is perhaps a bit unsubtle.

“I’m sure we can sort out a bride price, they’ll sell you for a few German camels” ok that did not in any way come out the way he wanted and now it’s seriously offensive _and_ awful.

Robin wrinkles his nose, doesn’t laugh and Ant’s heart stops. This is fine, they get on, this will all be funny one day. Probably.

“I'm not taking your manufacturer, it’ll have to be doubled like Abt.” Robin snorts, reaches for the can of diet coke he has in the well of the dash. “MS Amlin Andretti Audi Sport BMW Former Red Bull Juniors Endurance GT Formula E Team.”

Ant’s hand involuntarily tenses on Robin’s leg at the Red Bull mention - god, he always forgets they both did that, it seems so far into the distant past now. It’s so distracting he almost doesn’t think about the rest of what Robin said, forcing himself to laugh at the joke rather than process it.

There’s a thought somewhere in there that he’s not really letting himself have - that Robin’s only just barely hinting at and he knows, really, that that’s why he’s put Ant’s hand on his leg, why their fingers ended up tangling in the search for the mp3 wire earlier. It’s their jobs - their careers, sure - that link them.

But somewhere in between the jokes, in these weird moments when it’s just them, their lives. There isn’t a clean way to extract the two, anymore.

He tightens his grip against Robin’s thigh for a moment and desperately _hopes._

\-----

There’s barely a point having a hotel for an endurance race, except he’s supposed to be getting a good night’s sleep. He isn’t, obviously - hours in the car with Robin have left him shaken up, restless and lonely.

They’d eaten dinner together, gone to the gym together, Ant had _nearly_ followed Robin into his room, both of them lingering, making nothing conversation in the lobby. He wishes Robin was here now, in some complex way where Ant has no idea what he wants to _do_ with him but the lack of his presence is upsetting.

Robin is almost certainly asleep, like he should be. He knows he spends way too much time Instagramming Robin sleeping so it’s not like he needs a memory of what he looks like but Ant knows perfectly well how he’ll be resting.

Robin sleeps with his arm under his head, pillowed like a self-comfort, like someone’s spooning him. Ant would very much like to - tuck his knees into the back of Robin’s legs where he will have drawn them up, breathe in the smell of Robin’s skin and feel their weight resting against each other. He wants very badly to feel Robin’s slow breathing, heartbeat in time with his own, Ant stretched long around him for maximum contact, Robin enjoying the touch of Ant’s chest against his back.

Robin sleeps deeply, slipping into a dreamy state - Ant can’t resist waking him up to get that liminal, crawling-out-of-the-well state where Robin’s confused and gentle, responsive to his touches and seeking out contact where Ant’s poking him to rouse him. He wants that all the time, that ease of closeness.

Ant rolls over to hug the duvet between his legs, ball it up so it’s something to wrap his arms around and feels very, very sad for a second. If he wanted a girl this badly he’d just text her romantic nonsense but it’s not like that even feels like it makes sense about what he feels for Robin.

There’s aspects of Robin he enjoys - from being able to appreciate the way Robin’s shoulders flex when he does a pull up to the intelligence of what he says sometimes, leaving Ant dumbstruck about some insight he’s dropped into a conversation with the engineers. He likes when Robin checks up on him, when Robin’s curious to the point of being nosy about what Ant’s up to.

A few months ago he’d gone for dinner with a friend and ignored his phone for a few hours after Instagramming the starter. When he checked it there was a few messages from Robin - hardly unusual, they talk a lot - asking him about his ‘date’.

Ant’s insides had turned, replying - ugh, no, what if Robin thought he was dating someone? He’d never do that. Well, he would of course - it’s not like he’s never had a girlfriend but he wouldn’t do that _to Robin._

Because whatever the thing is, they’ve both been single during it. A girlfriend - even a date - would be too much for them to get round, a wall across the liminal space everything that happens without actually happening between them takes place in.

He’s lonely - definitely, it’s a problem with being busy and on the road all the time. Ant doesn’t get enough time to really _miss_ having another person around to share things with because there’s _always_ other people and actually he feels a bit more like he’s going mad from never getting any privacy.

And Robin offsets that. It's where the wife feeling comes from, so much shared experience between them it's almost as close an understanding as being loved. Robin doesn't have to actually care about Ant to know what's going on with him because it's happening to him too.

When they're alone together it's as good as privacy, Robin and him would never stress each other, they help each other and if they don't want to talk they don't. They spend time understanding each other and that's as good as being alone - so of course he craves it, that almost brain-cleansing ability to relax for four seconds.

Ant makes a soft noise into the duvet and startles himself, forces himself to let go of where he’s hugged it because for fuck’s sake man, you’re 25 not 4. Maybe it's just that, he wants something physical he isn't getting that Robin just happens to be filling in some of the emotional level for.

And perhaps they have just gone mad. But Ant wants the physicality with Robin, wants the waist he strokes his hands down to be Robin’s, wants the legs that entangle with his to be encased in soft grey sweatpants, wants scruffy brown hair against his shoulder, to rest his own head against an Audi fleece and have wheel-calloused fingers massage his scalp.

More than anything he wants someone or something to confirm he’s _allowed_ to look at Robin. That having his hand on Robin’s leg earlier was something that wouldn't be snatched from him if he took it a millimetre too far or anyone else got even slightly in the way.

He's never really heard of Robin dating anyone, which bothers him because what if that means Robin's been dating loads of people all along and he never knew. Ant's pretty sure he has some kind of hookup back in Maastricht, an old childhood friend or something, which somehow doesn't bother him because you have to relieve the pressure sometimes but if Robin was actively pursuing other people he couldn't be happy about it.

He likes sex, of course but that isn't what this is about - he's never actually tried to think too hard about how they'd fuck, having some dim awareness of the process but not wanting to almost get his hopes off by imagining it too realistically. When he’s let himself get turned on about it, it’s in vague terms, imagining physical contact and skin-on-skin more than detail.

Ant's life is good - better than good, the odd DNF or whatever that runs off every time he gets a victory not denting the good fortune of being a professional racing driver who can surf on his days off. It's not that he's desperate for someone to share that with - because he's already got one. He just doesn't know if he's allowed to look at Robin and imagine his lips brushing over the soft hair at the nape of his neck, to wish Robin would touch him, to be breathlessly scared of making it real.

He _wants_ but doesn't know how to quantify it. And it’s 2am and he has a 24 hour race tomorrow, he needs to sleep and stop thinking, which really means only one nuclear option given he can hardly knock himself out with the minibar or something.

Ant rolls halfway onto his stomach, like he’s hiding against the bed, pressing his face into the pillow - this is going to be rough and dirty, palming his dick with an urgency he’ll probably regret in a minute. He’s hard and leaking within a minute, worked up from overthinking and a bit, pathetically, from touching Robin’s thigh earlier.

The thought of warm muscle under soft grey fleece, the hint of the hem of Robin’s boxer shorts, the way he _wanted_ to move his hand higher, wanted to stroke and tease and turn Robin on, feel if Ant’s hand being there had him half-hard. He wriggles against the bed, pressing further into the pillow, imagining Robin’s dick - fuck, this is a lot more detailed than he normally goes. And a lot more openly gay but he was _so close_ to it earlier, imagines soft skin and the _heat_ of Robin and how thick and hard and heavy he’d be.

He’s working his own dick like he imagines bringing Robin off, frantic and needy - oh fuck, Robin gripping his shoulders, shoved against a wall with Ant’s leg between his thighs, begging him to get him off. He wants Robin’s mouth to fall open in panted demands, head flung back so Ant can chase his lips, wants Robin urgent and open and utterly dependent on him for a second, on the pleasure Ant’s giving him.

He wants it in their race suits, against a wall, furtive and not giving a fuck if anyone finds them because they’re too worked up, Robin too close to care if they’re interrupted. Ant wants Robin to fancy him more when he’s sweaty and stressed from qualifying, to like it when they’re both dirty, thermals nearly transparent from perspiration, grabbing at each other as soon as they’re out of a briefing. He wants Robin to be eager to touch him as soon as they’re out of the cars, pulling at the zip of his race suit in front of everyone, showing off how much he needs to touch Ant - _fuck,_ Ant wants Robin to fuck him, wants Robin to want it _fuck,_ he’s whining and coming over his hand.

Nuzzling the pillow, the guilt sets in before he’s even really come down from it. He doesn’t even know _how_ they’d fuck, although he’s now really quite sorely tempted to do some in-depth PornHub research, Ant’s just tired of denying himself stuff now. He’s about 80% sure Robin wants it as well, what are they even doing?

They’re going to have to talk about it, like adults. Talk about it and work out if they should stop or carry on or spend some time apart or move in together or what. They can’t carry on like this, this is stupid - he shouldn’t be wanking over Robin, they should be fucking or he should be moving on and finding someone more normal to want.

Sticky-handed, he pulls the duvet back over himself and sinks into a restless sleep, his mind going to the racing now he’s apparently managed to be an adult about everything else.

\-----

The next day, he thinks maybe he really has just gone mad because being as far away as an entire different garage gives him enough clarity to think about things other than Robin for a few seconds and the whole thing feels deeply silly. Of course he’s not going to talk to Robin about fancying him, for fuck’s sake - what a weird conversation to have.

They just need some space. Or maybe he ought to try dating someone - one of his friends must know _someone_ single. Maybe he could even try dating a man who isn’t Robin? Maybe that’s what he needs. But whatever he does he is absolutely not making everything completely weird over one 2am wank for god’s sake - if he worried this much about everything he’s ever thought of getting himself off in a hotel bed, late at night he’d probably either be arrested or at the very least get nothing done.

As it turns out he has other problems, the car quietly exiting the race overnight while he’s lightly dozing against a bulkhead, roused by the shouts of anguish around the garage. Fuck’s sake, they were going to win. Or well, get on the podium, at least. Probably.

After an hour Ant’s in such a dark mood he has to force himself out of it - he’s supposed to be one of the more grown up ones here, even if this is his first time at the Nordschliefe and there will be other chances. He takes Alex for chicken nuggets, feeling oddly fatherly given Lynn is only a couple of years younger than himself and is so caught up in his own grief he totally misses Robin’s podium.

Which is probably for the best because they are rivals, as well as friends. So Ant ought to resent Robin standing up there, exhausted and high on the reward of a podium, instead of blearily tired and sucking on the dregs of an empty McDonald’s milkshake his trainer would kill him for having.

“What are you up to next?” Ant blinks a few times, the desire to sleep having kicked in somewhere between the fries and the second pot of utterly disgusting yet strangely moreish sweet and sour sauce.

“I think… I think FE? And Blancpain. Oh, maybe it’s Blancpain - you should join us, you’re good.” He feels like he needs to encourage Alex, for some reason. The man’s too earnest, too desperately seeking approval - Ant got the knockback from Formula 1 years ago but it’s fresh on Lynn’s racing record and he remembers the loss of purpose. Despite whatever progress he’s making, Alex is as fragile as a kicked puppy, the retirement like a slammed door in his mind rather than the annoying restart on the long slog back to the Green Hell next year that it is.

Ant feels compelled to offer him some of his last fries. “You?”

“Simulator, for FE - some Wec stuff-” Ant has to stop himself giggling, it sounds even worse in an Essex accent, the flat syllables extended comedically. Alex smiles before continuing and Ant think’s it’s at him looking amused, for a second but “And Le Mans, is the big thing.”

He instantly sobers, feeling a flash of undeniable envy. Le Mans is special - he knows, next year, he’ll be there but it’s almost like a wound not being there in 2017. It feels like every single fucker he knows will be and he knows he should be head down, focussed, he’s got the factory role, the development job for next year, the chance to do something really extraordinary with the team but it’s a _thing_ and he wants _things,_ he’s not some retiring wallflower.

At least Robin won’t be there either. Maybe they can watch it together, that’d be cool - get a few beers in and take advantage of the fact they’re not driving to just hang - Dani’s not doing it either, they could have a mini-party and then it wouldn’t even be weird. Not that watching Le Mans together would be weird it’s just that staying up for over 24 hours together is a bit… something.

Actually perhaps he’s even tireder than he thought, yawning as he tries to think of a reply to Alex that doesn’t sound too seethingly jealous, “Oh yeah - good luck man, that’ll be incredible.”

“Yeah.” Alex looks slightly distant, like he’s already caught up in a very Steve McQueen fantasy because of course he is, they all are - you only have to breathe the words ‘Le Mans’ and drivers get all misty-eyed and romantic. Ant wonders if Robin’ll be there next year - it’d be shit if he wasn’t but Audi have very much closed that door. God, Robin should just shack up with BMW already and then all this would be sorted.

“Can we sleep before we go home?” Alex looks very pathetic, yawning and trying to prop himself on his empty drinks cup, which promptly crumples, spurting a jet of Tango into his hair up the straw. Ant tries not to think about the fact Robin is back at the hotel - and that they have another road trip ahead of them.

“Yeah, shit. We should get back to the hotel. And sleep.” His brain is not really into forming whole sentences right now, shitty food mixing with tiredness to utterly annihilate coherent thought.

Alex is quiet on the walk back - which is fine because Ant feels like he’s having a slightly out-of-body experience, what the fuck do they put in those nuggets? Everything is weird and difficult and tingly and he’s swinging between being very determined about things and feeling utter, utter despair - the crash of defeat hitting big again, as they return to the scene of hope.

He wakes up twice, panicking a bit - once that Robin’s left without him and he’s slept through every alarm and once that Robin is in bed with him, which turns into a total confusion about how he came to be hugging a bath towel until he remembers falling straight into bed after a shower.

Then they’re in a car for seven hours, Robin’s empty champagne bottle tucked against his suitcase in the boot and they don’t hold hands and Ant doesn’t say anything.

\-----

“Do you want to come to my uncle’s wedding? It’s in Spain - Madrid or somewhere.” Robin says it casually, halfway through tying up a very frayed shoelace that’s such a losing battle Ant’s practically vibrating with the need to just get him some new fucking shoes, jesus.

“Err, when?” He hasn’t been to a wedding for ages, he’s always away at weekends. That’s probably not what he should be concentrating on, here but there’s something so tangibly close to a conversation he’s desperate to have and wants to dam off forever that he’ll grab any rock before his thoughts rush away on a torrent of emotional vertigo.

“It’ll be nice - you know, good food and things. Not Dutch - don’t look at me like that.” Ant can’t help it, northern Europe may have the money and infrastructure and cultural dominance but what is the point of that when your culinary imagination runs to almost nothing more passionately inspiring than different forms of mashed potato?

“Mmm, when though? We’re kinda busy this summer.” Oh god, he’s saying ‘we’ again like they have a shared Google calendar and he doesn’t just use Robin’s to find out his own schedule half the time because you know, why replicate work?

“Le Mans weekend - so you’re free.” Ugh. But yes and maybe it’d be a good distraction? “We can watch it in the hotel room, I just have to show my face for a bit, mum worked out I wasn’t racing and I can’t come up with an excuse.”

“Why do I have to go too?” Ant nearly slaps himself for saying it, choosing instead to stick his head all the way into his locker like he’s very fascinated by the selection of old chewing gum someone has artfully sculpted into the hinges.

“Aw come on man, don’t leave me having to deal with my mum on my own - she loves you.” This is actually true - Ant likes to think he’s just a very lovable guy but also, to add awkwardness to complication, he’s about 90% sure Robin’s mum slightly fancies him given the pattern of her Insta likes.

He takes his head out of his locker, unable to reasonably pretend to be looking at anything in it anymore and plasters on a slightly flirty grin, “Mmm, she does.”

Robin throws a sweaty running sock at him (which like, _ugh, Frijns_ \- why would you wear them in the simulator) but he looks pleading, rather than annoyed. Ant had made up his mind he was going in some of the micro-seconds after the question had come out of Robin’s mouth but if he’d had any hesitation at all, it would take a considerably less confused man to turn it down now.

“Yeah, sure man, I’ll come along.” Something softens in Robin’s face, like he’d been nervous about what Ant was going to say. “But you have to get new shoes, I can’t cope with you re-tying that shitty bit of string every ten minutes.”

Robin huffs at him and goes back to concentrating on the shoelace but Ant can see he’s grinning, feels himself mirroring it. This feels significant, somehow - they’re doing something totally unrelated to racing, so maybe they’ll still see each other even if they weren’t teammates?

They walk to the car in companionable silence - and he’s noticed the team now only allocate them one parking spot, the bastards. it’s ecologically sound, alright? Isn’t that supposed to be a thing they care about here? It makes him worry they’ll start putting them in the same hotel room or something at some point. Like, they do know they are separate people, right? You need all four cars?

He’s dumping his bag into the boot while Robin tuts at him, leaning over to rearrange it because god forbid something even they can’t see isn’t straight on, when they bump into each other. It’s fine, they touch all the time - that’s part of what makes this whole thing so much of a _thing._

They don’t normally do it when Ant’s standing and Robin’s bent over, so his hip is against Ant’s crotch and everything’s zero’d in to some black hole-esque pressure point that leaves neither of them moving or breathing for just too long to get out of this easily. Fuck, why did he freeze, not take a step back? Fuck, it feels great and he’s so fucking excited and completely terrified. Shit.

Robin looks over his shoulder at Ant, from where he’s bent over the boot and oh god, oh _god_ this is going to haunt him for weeks, does a little hip-wiggle that’s unmistakably rubbing places that are both good and bad. He realises he’s brought his hands up slightly, almost like he’s going to grab Robin’s hips and hump him but he’s so nervous he can barely do anything but stutter, brain fully occupied with committing the long line of Robin’s back and the feel of their thighs so close to absolutely indelible memory.

Robin’s expression is a little cocky, something daring in there and he desperately wants to take the bait but instead somehow says “Uh, err - maybe I shouldn’t go to this wedding?”

What the fuck. What the _fuck._ Why did he say that? Why did he not just grab Robin and kiss him because that’s all he wants to do now, with his heart plummeting through his stomach so fast he’s surprised it’s not caused serious internal injuries. Maybe it will and then he can just die here, rather than carry on in this universe where instead he said _that._

Robin looks shocked - and a bit sad, turns his face away to straighten up. “Uh. Forget I said that - I ...I don’t know what I meant, sorry.”

Robin gives him a hard look, closing the boot with one hand, “Are you sure?”

“Yes - yeah, I’ll come, sorry. I just - I just thought I rememb-”

“Not that - are you sure you don’t know what you mean?” That hawkish look is definitely borrowed off someone else - it will take Ant a few days to realise it’s Heidfeld, when he’s interrogating you on something - and what that implies he’s asked Robin about.

“I - I don’t know.” Ant realises he’s brought his hands right up, gesturing almost at shoulder-height in some awkward, flapping way because he’s panicking and he’s _ruined_ everything and he knows perfectly fucking well what Robin is pushing for. “Not… not in front of the team.”

He’s muttering, by the end of the sentence - Ant’s scared beyond comprehension, having dragged this whole thing out of barely-existence, Schroedinger’s relationship in a perpetual state of together and not. He’s very, very worried the cat will turn out to be dead now he’s started breaking open the box and also this is all more about psychology than quantum physics.

Robin looks sour but in agreement, glares for a second and Ant knows he’s not just fucked things up, he’s _hurt_ him. It paralyses him, unable to go and do the sensible thing and get in the car, get them out of here. Robin exhales, looks down at his feet for a second, splaying his hands slightly in a gesture of almost defeat.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” He looks back up and Ant isn’t sure whether to try and look relieved and friendly, show how much he’d fucked _himself_ at the same time or to just panic. Robin doesn’t look angry anymore - if anything there’s some wry amusement there, perhaps a bit of self-deprecation. “Let’s go, for fuck’s sake.”

When Ant still doesn’t move, Robin heads off to the driver’s side and the idea his teammate might actually leave without him, given the circumstances, spurs him into motion. His feet feel clumsy, he fumbles the door and he drops his phone down the side of the seat trying to get his belt on, making the whole fraught process ten times as long as it needs to be, _god._

“For fuck’s sake-” Robin leans over, puts his hand down the side of the seat at the same time as Ant’s own manhandling reaches the edge of his phone, finally and Ant’s not sure what he expected but it wasn’t to have his hand almost violently yanked out of the seat and entwined with Robin’s.

He hopes he doesn’t look too wild-eyed, staring at his teammate and dangling the carrot of hope in front of his heart again, “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Robin sighs at him, squeezes his hand, “Don’t fuck it up, then. Idiot.”

He spends the next 200 miles really, really sincerely trying not to.

\------

They get _druuuuuunk_ in Monaco. Which is a mistake because - because Ant has his phone in his hand. And it has no battery? Or he turned it off. Maybe both, maybe he turned it off to save battery? Where’s Robin?

It’s not quite true that racing drivers never drink. It _is_ true that when they do, they get pissed off about half a glass of wine - which is roughly a… he tries to do some mental maths… a fourteenth of the amount of wine he has had. Or maybe a thirteenth-and-a-half? That’s not how maths works, probably. He dimly remembers having done an exam about it at some point, which he would definitely fail if forced to retake right now.

God, what if he ever stopped being a professional racing driver? Maybe he could be a youtuber. Him and Robin could make youtube videos together of like… dogs and things. Or just retire to the beach, maybe they could run a bar - he likes the place they’re in, Ant could imagine them getting old, telling disbelieving customers about the time they both drove Formula 1 cars.

Ant realises he’s defocussed a bit, staring out across the mediterranean, when Daniel Abt sits down very heavily opposite him. Oh shit, he was _definitely_ doing an Instagram live with him like… half an hour ago oh _shit_ that’s why his phone is off. Fuck, he’ll probably be in trouble for that. Whatever. Where _is_ Robin?

Abt’s girlfriend is with him, sitting down much more delicately than he managed. Ant’s always kind of surprised she exists - Daniel doesn’t seem the type to be so ridiculously loyal but watching them now, Abt is utterly enraptured, gazing slightly stupidly at her because she’s brought him a drink he absolutely does not need and put her hand on his arm.

It’s amazing, how falling for someone affects you - Daniel isn’t cocky or self-assured (possibly because he can’t stand up unaided but still) - he’s clearly forgotten there’s anyone else in the room, frankly, so preoccupied with the apparent love of his life. If Ant was a meaner person - or a few years younger - he’d take the piss out of cool, shouty Daniel Abt making doe-eyes at his long-term girlfriend like she’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Ant would quite like someone to look at him that way, really - it’s a pretty natural human urge. And now he’s drunk and maybe can’t stand unaided either and there’s no one to bring him a rum and coke even though it’s kind of got to the rum and coke time of the evening.

You have the wine - because you’re all classy and there are sponsors and shit - then you get emotional, then you have the rum and coke and a bit of a dance, that’s how drinking works. But you can’t have rum and coke and a bit of a dance on your own or else people will start asking questions, so he’s left with only the option of sulking a bit because Jerome and Mitch have disappeared and he still can’t see Robin.

Maybe he should just leave and go back to the hotel but he thinks a boat is involved for that and Ant’s not entirely sure he trusts himself with working out how that would go, currently. Sighing, he tries to turn his phone back on and not look too hard at Daniel trying to sneak his hand up his girlfriend’s thigh like a teenager in a cinema.

“It’s dark rum, I hope that’s ok.” Robin nudges his hand with the glass, sitting down next to him and for a terrible moment Ant thinks he might cry with relief - god, he really has drunk too much already. But now Robin is here and he’s brought him a rum and coke and maybe they can dance in a bit, even though Robin hates it.

Ant realises he has his hand on Robin’s arm in almost a direct mirror of Daniel earlier and he doesn’t care. They haven’t sorted anything out since their last roadtrip - but he feels like he can _look_ maybe and since they’re drunk perhaps it’s ok to touch? Robin looks down with it, slinging an arm around Ant’s shoulders to lean on him.

It could be friendly - well, it is friendly, they’re friends, it just might also be something else because they might be that too. Ant tucks his head against Robin’s shoulder, leaning to sip at his drink and Robin giggles, the ice-cold glass having rubbed against his chest when Ant raised it. It makes them both turn their heads and for a second they’re breathing each other’s air, so close it makes Ant want to run away, heart thundering in his chest.

Robin tenses, too, like even their alcohol-relaxed bodies can’t stay lax under the adrenaline spike - god, it would not be good for them to kiss right now, there are so many people here. But also it would be so very, very, very good for them to kiss right now because Ant is _desperate_ and he can almost feel how moist Robin’s lips are on his breath, can taste the Disaronno he’s drinking.

They don’t. It would be too risky, no matter how much he wants it - and thinks Robin does too. He can feel his teammate’s heart pounding, where he’s rested his knuckles against Robin’s chest to stop himself knocking the glass against him again and Ant closes his mouth before he shifts his head, breathing in a last pant of Robin like he’s drowning.

He thinks Robin will take his arm away, that the brinkmanship will stop and they’ll make a joke of it - hilarious, nearly thought you really were my wife, must stop meeting like this but instead Robin says “Hey, did you know Jerome is signed for next year but Loic isn’t?”

Ant didn’t, actually. That’s a bit wild, must be an exciting time in the - _oh._ He lowers his voice, not that he thinks Abt is paying any attention to them but it seems polite, “Because of the Abt takeover?”

Robin hums anxiously. “You’d say if they’d signed you again already, right?”

Ant nods, deadly serious, “Nothing yet - they say it’s next year, focus on this one, you know. Waiting for calendars I guess, maybe.”

Robin lifts one knee up to half-curl on the couch - and somewhat into Ant, “Ok. That’s good then - maybe. I mean, I hope you get signed but like, for me.”

“I want them to keep us,” Ant actually quietly would quite like an entirely different team who can make the fucking cars work to have them, after a somewhat un-spectacular weekend but manufacturer contractual obligations must.

Robin nods and leans heavily against him, “I hate the not knowing, you know? It’s like the damn job’s hard enough in the first place and everyone wants you to keep your head together and then won’t tell you fucking anything.”

Ant takes a sip of his drink for some inspiration before drawing his own leg up to nudge his knee against Robin’s ankle, so they’re turned into each other. “It’s stupid, I’d rather they stopped telling us not to worry and fixed the fucking steering. Like, fine, you want me to get some results and whatever but like what am I supposed to do?”

A chuckle and the brush of hair against his face say Robin’s bent forward to laugh and they’re very close again, especially with this topic of conversation. What if they get broken up next year? What if they never actually get the chance to complete this achingly slow dance towards and around each other they’ve been elaborately conducting?

It hits him like biting the barrier, as though the air’s been driven out of his lungs. Fuck, all this time on _maybe_ and every ache and want and desire and they might not actually make it. Ant feels more sober than he has for hours, suddenly.

He balances his glass in the crook of his knee, where their legs are slightly entangled, letting his hand free to reach out to Robin, trail his knuckles across his collarbone and in the end it’s both of them that lean in, for the briefest of kisses. Their lips barely touch but hot breath and open mouths make it more intimate than nearly any kiss he’s had before, almost shaking with nerves as something hot and cold and thrilling shoots through him like electricity.

They draw back, because no matter how pissed everyone else is they shouldn’t really do this - it’s not that anyone cares about gay snogging but _drivers_ snogging _each other_ is very much a no. And shit - _shit,_ they went there. He kissed Robin. Does that mean he gets to kiss Robin again? God, please - he feels something swell in his ribcage at just the idea, like he’s suffocating from the inside with sheer need.

Robin looks bright eyed, happy in a way he doesn’t often, breathing shallowly like he’s feeling the same. Everywhere they’re touching is warm and Ant can’t resist drawing his fingers down Robin’s neck, stroking his pulse point like he needs to check he’s real.

“Alright lovebirds, grab a shot,” a trayful of some something sickly, herbal and foul smelling is shoved at them by Mitch, who’s laughing and being half-held-up by Jerome, which explains where they both were. And also why no one knows anything about what happens in the next three-and-a-bit-hours.

\------

‘Still fully dressed, on top of the covers and several feet apart from each other’ was perhaps not quite the circumstances he’d imagined waking up to Robin in. He could probably also do without the frontal lobe headache that feels like a tyre drill being driven through his skull, the alcohol-induced anxiety that’s making his heart flutter a bit because he has _no_ idea how exactly they got back last night, the dead rat taste in his mouth and the suspicion that drinking water is going to trigger some severe nausea.

The slight movement of his hips to stop his belt digging _straight_ into his bladder confirms that the possibility of throwing up is very much in his future, everything feeling encased by static that has a violent agenda against him. Ugh, god, what happened? How badly are they in trouble with the team? Does Robin hate him?

“I don’t hate you, I can’t open my eyes until there’s paracetamol.” He’s absolutely certain he didn’t say that out loud because his mouth is currently so dry he can barely breathe, so he must have been worrying about it when he was drunk.

Robin rolls over slightly, from the ball he’d been curled in, facing away from Ant and blindly stretches out a hand towards him, “Oh fuck, everything is spinning.”

“This is not good,” Ant agrees, his voice sounding as shit as he feels. He rolls over himself, shifting closer to Robin until they can hold hands - any more serious bodily contact might be overambitious currently but it’s nice to feel like there’s another human to hold on to. Now is definitely not the moment for experimenting with anything other than trying to breathe but even in this state, he’s glad Robin is here - waking up alone and fucked up would be much worse, especially after they’d kissed.

Fuck, they _kissed._ He feels warmth blossom down every nerve at the thought, nearly giggles. It perks him up enough to turn his head to gaze at Robin, which makes pain stab through his temple but is worth it. Robin’s eyes are closed, lying on his back with his shirt collar rumpled around his neck - motes of light from where sunlight is creeping around the blind and reflecting off the glass of a picture flame are highlighting his cheekbone and chin.

Robin’s not beautiful exactly. Ant’s been in love with very beautiful women and it is different - Robin feels more like a secret only he’s worked out - the individual elements of his face a map that only Ant can understand. From long, light eyelashes brushing his cheeks to the slight bump at the bridge of his nose, the way his stubble frames pouty lips, parted slightly to deal with the whole ‘trying to breathe’ issue.

Robin would look extremely lovely falling apart, colour high on his cheeks like when he’s in the gym, skin flushed and sweaty, the picture of debauched pleasure. Ant’s not sure he could actually get off the bed right now so he’s definitely not thinking of suggesting it but maybe one day - he likes the idea of driving Robin wild, of seeing the want they both suppress in Robin’s eyes, like last night.

It’s slightly making him feel better, to look at Robin - their clammy fingers entwined, in the privacy of whichever of their rooms they’re in, he feels like he can. It helps that Robin has his eyes closed still. He drags his gaze down to Robin’s chest, where he’s shallowly breathing, the rise and fall almost laboured like the hangover migraine is causing him serious pain.

“Do you want me to get you some paracetamol?” Ant’s not entirely sure he’s sufficiently functional to do so but you know, being a nice… teammate or whatever.

“Nnn - no, don’t go. Just-” Robin rolls over onto his side, eyes still closed and grabs for Ant with his other hand, “Come here.”

Ant drags himself into Robin’s grasp, until they’re halfway tangled up in each other in a messy sort of hug, Robin sighing not-exactly-contentedly into his shoulder, Ant’s knee between Robin’s. Everything hurts still but this is also nice, the most bodily contact they’ve maybe ever had.

Robin feels good against him, no matter how shit Ant feels otherwise. Breathing next to each other feels easier and Robin’s hand on his waist feels steadying, soothing. He’s so busy enjoying it he doesn’t notice himself falling asleep again, snuffling into Robin’s hair.

He wakes up when Robin wriggles against him, not sure how long they’ve been dozing but it’s enough that his headache has subsided, he’s fiercely thirsty and he’s a little sweaty under his clothes, lying in what’s now quite a mid-morning sunbeam with a fully dressed man in his arms.

“Urgh,” Robin shifts again, although not away from him, “We are gross.”

Ant wrinkles his nose because honestly they do both kind of smell and it would be nice not to feel disgusting. “How angry do you think the team are?”

Robin shakes his head, “I’m not looking at my phone for a bit.”

Ant decides to be a little brave and pulls Robin slightly closer for a moment, eliciting a slightly grumbly noise at being manhandled and a hand spread across his chest, Robin’s thumb rubbing over the contour of his ribs. It’s almost too much, nearly ticklish, when his body’s this fragile - also pressing them together has reminded him he needs to pee.

“Should we…?” He can’t quite process what he wants to ask - should they talk about it? Should they even be cuddling like this? Should they kiss again?

“Wash? Yes, definitely.” Robin wrinkles his nose again and gives Ant a shove with his splayed fingers, “Come on, we’re gonna have to get up eventually.”

Ant can’t help laughing at that, “Are _you_ telling _me_ it’s time to get up?”

“You don’t always smell like this.” Robin gives him another shove and manages to successfully escape, because Ant can barely coordinate his own limbs anyway and is also laughing, trying to sit up on the bed. “Where are we?”

Ant takes a moment to look around. Oh, they’re in the suite thing they’re sharing - but the lack of suitcases says it’s neither of their room. “Uh? I guess… home.”

Robin looks cynical, “Imagine living in Monaco like a fucking _asshole_ , wauw.”

Ant snorts at that, manages to stand up and realises the needing a piss situation is very, very urgent, tottering past Robin through to the shared lounge and straight to the bathroom. He has a weirdly dazed, detailed fantasy of Robin following him in, cuddling up to him behind him even though he has absolutely no desire whatsoever for Robin to ever see him a) pissing, b) especially when he can barely stand up, he just kind of wants to be reassured.

When Ant gets back into the main room, Robin is filling the bath that he’d assumed was ornamental, some weird set up by the window. “Look, it works!”

“What, so you’re just going to have a bath while I’m watching TV?” Ant feels very giggly this morning, presumably the side effects of the wine.

Robin blushes, glances away “I thought we… both could? It’s quite big.”

It’s such a straight up _nice_ offer that Ant can’t think what to say for a second. He’s not totally sure where they stand with the _thing_ \- and he’s not sure whether he wants to go straight to nudity but also that sounds really good.

Robin is examining a bottle of GH Mumm that appears to be on the side - “Who did we steal this off?””

“Piquet? I honestly don't know. What was Mitch making us drink?” Robin looks pained at the reminder, like he's just worked out what the taste in the back of his mouth is and is extremely unhappy about it.

“That was definitely Jager, he's an idiot.” Robin pats him on the arm reassuringly and Ant can't help giggling again, overexcited to have woken up with Robin and this all feels so _domestic_ and nice.

“It sounds a bit like his car.” Robin full-on slaps his arm.

“Do _not_ tell him that it will only encourage him. I feel like roadkill already.” Robin flops his head onto Ant’s shoulder, seeking sympathy and well, this seems like a safe enough moment to put his arms around Robin’s waist, pull him close to rest on each other.

“Mnnn, bath, I don’t know which of us smells worse.” Robin steps back half-reluctantly, looks up at Ant through his eyelashes, shyly and with a little of the excitement Ant’s feeling at just kind of being together.

The bath thing is a fair point - Ant had been slightly enjoying it, in a disgusting way, because smelling Robin - and realising his clothes are starting to smell _of_ Robin is nice but things have gone a little too grim in the half hour since they woke up.

This definitely isn’t the moment to undress each other - Ant can barely get his shirt undone without tearing off the buttons, once he’s switched the taps off. His trousers seem way more complicated around the ankles than they were when he put them on and even his socks require a fight to take off. After which he stops, hesitating.

Ok, they’re going to get in a bath with each other. After sleeping curled up with each other. And kissing, at least once and possibly more times during the mystery hours of which he hopes no one is ever going to speak. Which is all quite gay - and nice, really nice but not… he doesn’t want to get his dick out.

What if Robin does not like his dick? This is all ok thus far - Robin’s seen him in his underwear before, they kind of have to get changed near each other fairly often but even if he does have to actually get naked, it’s only as a transitional stage between jeans and race suit or visa versa, not to actually _be naked_ in the bath. After kissing. Which makes the whole thing kind of weirder than before - also thinking about holding Robin earlier is doing some reasonably unsubtle things to him and what if Robin just thinks he’s a weirdo?

Ant’s semi-detailed fantasies about them have never involved ‘awkward bath he really wants to get into but they’re hungover and everything is pretty confusing.’ He shoots a glance at Robin, who has also stopped before he’s taken his briefs off. This feels terribly, embarrassingly repressed but - and he very vaguely remembers Mitch taking the piss out of him last night about this - they can be weird and awkward if they want, it’s _their_ thing.

He holds a hand out to Robin - yeah, getting in a warm bath in his pants is not the most comfortable thing he’s ever thought of but maybe ‘not that comfortable’ is where they’re at. Robin steps in first, cautiously submerging and Ant just about manages to follow him without breaking either of their ankles or slopping _too_ much water onto the floor.

He’s just realising neither of them brought a towel over, as he settles in, when Robin nudges a knee against his. They’re at opposite ends of the tub - not that that gives them much space - and their legs are bent up and tangled in between, one of his between Robin’s and visa versa.

Ant is a little overcome - this is all very intimate, the warm water touching him everywhere Robin isn’t feeling like just as much of a link as their skin. “Are you ok?” He can’t help asking it, because if Robin bolts now there is no turning back and also Ant might have some kind of tragic breakdown in a warm, citrus-smelling bath.

Robin looks much bolder about it than he’s expecting - he half wants to know what on earth he said last night and also _never_ wants to know. “Yeah, yeh - you?”

Robin’s fingers find his, holding hands between their tangled calves and yeah, Ant really is ok. He’s not really naturally inclined to take anything slowly - it somewhat comes with being a race driver - but this is alright, not anxiety-inducing, he doesn’t think they’re going to fuck it up. They can be a little bolder with it, push the limits maybe.

He starts by meeting Robin’s eyes when he nods and fuck - Robin is so pretty, sometimes. Condensation from the bath is making his hair curl slightly and skin get a dewy sheen that makes Ant want to touch, to run his thumbs over Robin’s cheekbones while they’re kissing. He tries to not look too nervous, smiling with his breath caught in his throat when Robin runs his thumb over their joined fingers, tugging a little to bring Ant towards him.

He’s only too happy to shuffle forward slightly - he could try to tell himself it’s because the taps are digging into his shoulders but really he just wants to tangle with Robin, have their _thing,_ on their terms. When he’s moved, he rests his head against Robin’s knee, where they’re bent up together and lets Robin play a wet hand through his hair, eyes closed.

Robin’s always given him comfort - whether by acknowledging his little wins, not necessarily the fastest but faster than Robin, or coming to rib him out of his own head when the situation reverses or this more gentle, intimate type of contact. They’ve spent enough evenings and car trips and race weekends speaking to each other about everything _apart_ from them, maybe they don’t even need to say it all out loud and make grand declarations.

“You’re going grey - behind your ear” Robin tugs at part of his hair - _ouch_ and Ant glares at him - he's sure he's not, how fucking rude. “It's nice, makes you look older.”

“You like older men, hey?” He can't stop it coming out and then splashes then both squirming because seriously why must he do this?

Robin grabs him to make him stay still. “No, well. No, you idiot. We're the same age.”

And that's it said and unsaid. Ant realises he's staring again and finds Robin’s hand, shifts closer until his legs are over Robin's, the sheer stupidity of them taking a bath together in their underwear unpleasantly manifest when heavy, wet cotton drags over his dick, tugs low on his waist. It’s nice, though, Robin playing wet fingers through his hair again, almost washing it - like touching it is something he’s thought about a lot and can’t resist anymore.

“If they ask me - I’m going to say I want you to stay.” Ant blurts it out, nearly getting his mouth in the bathwater with the way he’s leaning against Robin.

‘Same.” Robin sighs, “Not that I think they’re going to ask me but, you know.”

God, what if he doesn’t have Robin as a teammate next year? What the fuck’s he going to do? Fuck, what if Robin wasn’t even in Formula E anymore? Shit. He’s moved before he’s even thought what the hell he’s doing through, sloshing water everywhere as he straddles Robin and it’s much easier to kiss, like this.

No eyes on them, Robin’s hands on his arms, steadying Ant’s shoulders and Robin’s thighs between his. This is, for sure, the furthest they’ve ever gone and it’s enough, mouths tentatively together, noses rubbing. Every time their lips meet it feels like sparks - like when his car gives him a static electric shock and for a second he thinks it’s the battery and he’s about to die.

He wants more - but more of this, for now, working out how to kiss without grazing each other on their stubble, making sure they can ...not fuck it up? It’s thrilling, making his heart pound in a way sex wouldn’t, for an athlete. Although the way they’re sliding closer to each other is undeniably nice - not friction or frotting but their stomachs are touching and it feels so _close_ , sensitive skin and their heartbeats.

Robin moves his hands to tangle in Ant's hair and opens his mouth, letting them breathe each other again. Which turns out to be substantially less pleasant than it was last night - mouths still heavy with alcohol in a different way. He feels Robin's nose wrinkle against his cheek and pulls back.

“Should've brushed our teeth.” Ant hums an agreement - also the water is cooling around them and his knees hurt against the iron of the tub, so it’s not quite as romantic and fun as it possibly should be in theory. Robin surprises him by sliding his hands down, grabbing Ant’s arse for a destabilising few seconds and mumbling “And taken our pants off.”

“Proper shower? Not together” Robin nods, then looks a little disappointed. “Unless you want to, anyway.”

Ant takes advantage of the fact he can’t look at Robin at the same time as standing up, unless either of them wants a fairly severe injury, to avoid finding out what Robin’s answer is. He finally strips his underwear off, once he’s semi-safely out of the tub and onto the wet floor, because otherwise it’s just making the situation worse and tries not to worry too much about whether Robin’s looking at his arse as he walks to the bathroom because a seductive little wiggle would be a great way to end up on it.

He’s halfway through brushing his teeth by the time Robin appears, almost furtively, behind the door and then very quickly behind Ant so although he has time to notice Robin’s _also_ fully stripped, he doesn’t actually see anything. Which he’s a bit disappointed by - although Robin reaching round him for his own washbag and toothpaste presses them placatingly close.

After all the time he’s spent trying to talk himself out of it being a sex thing - or at least, not _just_ a sex thing, as though to talk himself down from letting it be a simple fuck or a frustration, he does actually want to do rather a lot more than occasionally nervously kiss Robin. If they’re edging towards _it_ being an _actual_ thing then, well, maybe they are gonna have to see each other’s dicks. Maybe he really _wants_ to see, touch Robin’s.

He spits toothpaste and has a sudden realisation that he could _suck_ Robin’s dick. Not today - he barely managed tooth brushing without gagging but that might be a fantasy to explore if they ever get any time apart again.

For now, he busies himself with trying not to look _anywhere,_ even himself, while he’s turning the water on and Robin slots into the walk-in shower behind him again, shower gel in hand. Ant doesn’t see the movement in the mirror this time, it’s in the sensual rub of Robin’s damp skin against his, Robin’s cheek pressed shyly against his shoulder like he’s hiding - or maybe overexcited, given he’s also pressed flush against Ant’s back and fuck, Robin’s dick is against his arse.

He nearly forgets what he’s doing, is startled by the sudden spray of cold water before the hot kicks in again. This is very - shit, they are touching each other, they’re doing this. He needs to turn round and talk to Robin before he makes any more embarrassing whining sounds just from feeling hardness against the swell of his arse because oh god, he’s done that to girls with his own dick and he just hopes it feels anything like as good.

Warm water engulfs them as he reaches behind him to shift Robin just enough so he can turn around and oh, they’re as slippery as it was in the tub but with so much more control and it’s _good._ Also now when they kiss it tastes of slightly different flavours of mint, not slightly different stages of mammalian decomposition so Robin’s tongue is in his mouth and Ant’s suddenly _so_ much more awake than he’s been all morning.

Everywhere they’re touching is oversensitised, the water tickling and teasing around muscles pressed together, the crook of Robin’s elbow framing his bicep in some way that could almost feel like wrestling. Their leg hair is slick friction where their thighs are touching and although they're both holding their hips back slightly, they're _millimetres_ from brushing their cocks together.

Robin sighs against his mouth, almost mews and Ant pushes his fingers into Robin's hips, drags them closer until he's backed against the shower wall and Robin is almost on top of him, hands on Ant's chest as they rub against each other and _wow._

For the record, Ant has had loads of sex. _Loads._ He's done all the types and probably most of the positions, with girls. He's seen more boobs than he's has hot dinners, what with the driver diet and especially after a slightly wild period in Milton Keynes he's shagged more people than is really ok to admit.

He loves it, loves that he's actually got fairly good at it despite rarely having a regular girlfriend. He knows how to be attentive to a girl and make her come as well as himself, enjoys it more when the pleasure is mutual. And it does make a girl a bit more inclined to trust you with being a bit adventurous if you've shown you've got the vaguest knowledge of how to turn someone on.

Robin is not a girl and slight though he may be, he's not very much like the kind of teenage models who go home with Red Bull Juniors. So the concerns are slightly different or at least, it's not really something Ant's experimented with much before, which is why he mumbles _“oh god”_ and bucks up against Robin as soon as their dicks touch because sliding his hard, wet cock across Robin's abs is so good he thinks it's cured his hangover.

Robin murmurs an agreement, then “Fuck, how long have we been thinking about this?”

Ant can't stop himself moving his hips, carrying on pressing them against each other while he nips at Robin's kiss-swollen lower lip before answering. “Specifically this? Never.”

Robin laughs, grabs at Ant's waist to slide his hands down, make Ant whimper with sensation overload when rough fingers palm his arse and they grind even closer, his balls rubbing against Robin's slick leg. “Oh yeah, what  do you think about? Us fucking in the garage?”

Ant tips his head back and blushes furiously. Robin sounds so husky and confident, the way he does when he's teasing in an interview and Ant feels completely undone, inhibitions crumbling in his rush to catch up.

“In - in the garage, at the track, against the tyre wall. I wanna jerk you off when you beat me in quali, make you - make you come in your thermals.” Robin growls at his stuttering, grabs Ant's chin to move their mouths together again, breathlessly kissing. “What were _you_ thinking?”

“This, definitely. In the showers at work. Was trying not to look at your arse yesterday.” Ant's not even sure when Robin means but fuck, _same._

“You can. Look, that is - if you want.” He's really very, very turned on now, Robin slippery in his arms and he's not sure they're actually going to get as far as touching each other's dicks at this rate.

“Oh yeah? You want me to?” Robin sounds so eager and he understands because Ant can't believe it, that he's allowed to touch and look and maybe _fuck_ Robin. Or Robin could fuck him, he's not especially bothered which way round given he's pretty sure neither of them have done it before.

“Oh god, we're doing this.” It sounds more anguished than he intends, breathlessness turning it almost pained.

“Yeh.” Robin's voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “We really fucking are. I want to.”

Robin isn't an especially domineering or pushy person - unless he's very confident about something, like his racing ability, then he's less inclined to put himself forward, as though he's expecting a knock back. Which means Robin is confident about this, about them, somehow.

“Please-” Ant opens his eyes to look down at them, contrasting skintones and the slight differences in their muscular structure a map of where they interlock. He wants - fuck he _really_ wants. “Please, Robin.”

“Mmnnngh, yes.” Robin humps up against him and it almost crushes their dicks together with the sweetest pressure and Ant can't think about _them_ or that this is weird or anything at all apart from the raw, hot, animal need to come.

“Oh god, oh _goooodddd,”_ He's so worked up he's got about 30 seconds before he's going to come, the need to paint streaks of white between them overwhelming as Robin presses closer and whispers encouragement in his ear. Oh fuck, he's going to come on Robin - and it's that thought that has him doing it, his spunk hot between them before it's washed away.

Oh god, fuck, he's come on Robin, Robin's still in his arms, Robin's kissing him and saying how hot he is. Ant can't stop himself turning them round, so Robin's back is against the wall, reaching between them and living out some of his wildest fantasies.

Robin _writhes_ as soon as Ant gets his hand round his cock, digging his fingers into Ant's shoulders and whining. “Oh fuck - please.”

Its the desperation he's fantasised about. And Ant knows how to jerk off, even if the rest of what he wants to do with Robin is a bit of a mystery. Robin's dick is exactly as rock-hard and hot as he'd imagined, water making it easy to rub his thumb over the head and down the sensitive vein.

Robin comes suddenly, shuddering and with such a whiny noise he sounds almost broken. Ant feels like _something_ has broken - a dam between them, maybe, the torrent of the shower pouring over them while they kiss.

Robin smiles at him, when he pulls back, reaches up to stroke Ant's hair while he's watching him through heavily-lidded eyes. “I can't believe we - no one has to know.”

Ant nods - it's not something the team should know about, which means most people they both know can't. “I might tell my mum.”

Robin laughs, shaking wet hair in Ant's face, “You're going to tell your mum you wanked me off in the shower?”

He feels himself blush crimson, slaps Robin's arm, “No, you idiot - that we're… more than teammates. You should tell yours, make her jealous.”

Robin rolls his eyes, “Oh God, _don't._ Although I may have told her, uhm, awhile ago to get out of… Some stuff.”

Oh really? Well, that's… interesting. That means Robin's been having slightly more detailed thoughts about this than he's been letting himself have, which makes him giggle with some sort of excited nerves - god, he really has turned into a schoolgirl today.

“Come on, you're going prune-y” Robin gives him a shove, reaches for the shower gel. God, they're _doing it._

_\------_

By the time they sort themselves out enough to be presentable, via some grilled sandwiches that were _very_ necessary, they're already late for some boat thing with Nelson neither of them remembers agreeing to. And Ant can't stop giggling still, or trying to hold Robin's hand.

“How fucked were you this morning?” Ant almost panics at the question - shit, did they say they were going off to shag? But Mitch continues, “I had to throw up twice before I could keep down a coffee. _Grimness.”_

“Totally your fault, you got the shots out.” Ant feels very justified in this - he'd just been planning to get emotive to some balearic, until then.

“Nah that was Jerome's fault. He's like, pissed off about something to do with Lucas? I can't actually remember the details, he kept giving me whiskey, of all the fucking drinks.” Mitch pushes his sunglasses up his nose like that will make them more effective somehow, clearly still suffering.

Ant glances over Mitch, bronze skin highlighting a body that looks much more godlike than it probably currently feels. He doesn't fancy Mitch, even though he's clearly a pretty attractive man - and definitely interested in other men himself, if anything Ant remembers from GP3 is anything to go by.

He decides to get interrogative - he's done a spin as a journalist on telly this weekend, after all. “You know Alex Lynn?”

Mitch laughs uproariously, “ _Know_ him? Yes, just a bit.”

“You used to… date, right? Back in GP3.” Ant had been kind of aware of it at the time and Alex had asked him a bunch of stuff about Mitch that has made him think about it again.

Unsurprisingly, Mitch looks defensive “Yeah, so?”

Ant can't think of a follow up question. Or well, he can  think of about a million but they all make him sound like an idiot - “ _How does that work, then?” “The sex thing, I'm not totally clear on how that doesn't hurt?” “How am I gonna cope with the Robin thing?” “Why did you guys break up?”_

He settles on “Just curious.”

Mitch gives him an intensely scrutinising look, pushing up his glasses to look at Ant dead on, “Oh yeah? You're _curious_ with Robin, right?”

“Uhm.” He swallows, not sure what to say. “Yeah?”

“Why him?” Mitch puts his glasses back down, looks out across the sea. “Had a bit of a crush on you back in the day myself - thought it wasn't your thing.”

Ant glances over to where Robin's chatting to Daniel Abt, laughing about something. To the untrained eye, he'd look relaxed - but Ant knows that grip on the railing is a bit deathly, that Robin's feeling the social anxiety he gets sometimes, around people he thinks are cooler than him. “I don't know? He just always has been.”

“Aw - you've fucked, right? This isn't just some tragic pining case.” Ant blushes - like, he knows Mitch is a bit blunt but fucking hell.

He makes some reasonably neutral noise of general agreement because like look, they'll do it when they want to, ok? He thinks they might do a bit more touching this evening, maybe in bed and he might even get adventurous and try to suck Robin off, if getting naked goes well.

Mitch is laughing at him, “God, you're ridiculous. Ok well, have fun - and use plenty of lube. Oh and _wash,_ it can be a bit messy.”

Ok this is _way_ more information than he needed, he's turning bright red. But maybe a good tip? “Yeah, _obviously.”_

He’s just thinking maybe he should call his last ex for some advice when Robin interrupts them, shoving Ant up on the lounger as Abt takes the other side of Mitch’s.

He's not sure what he ought to do - there's technically no one here who probably doesn't at least _suspect_ but it's a bit risky. “You know,” Daniel says, conspiratory, “That Loic visited our factory the other week.”

Ugh - something cold stabs at him. God, this _shit_ \- and he feels bad for Daniel, too, fucking _wow._

“That's kinda weird.” He can't help reaching for Robin's ankle, where he's bent one leg up, Ant rubbing his thumb over the ridge of bone as a self-soothe as much as it's for Robin.

Daniel huffs, “I mean, it's not really, is it? Fuck, though.”

Ant feels Robin's fingers find his, hands tangling, “I'm hoping BMW have the German camels to buy me out.”

Oh fuck, he nearly cries.

\------

Robin's uncle's wedding is actually really nice. And hardly anyone knows who he is, apart from Robin's nice Portuguese boyfriend from work, so he even manages to persuade him to dance a bit before they curl up in bed to spoon their way through various types of Le Mans heartbreak.

They have their first go at fucking, after the Porsche wins, which probably wasn't the right moment and not everything goes entirely to plan but it's all valuable data for the next attempt. Robin curls around him after and tells him it's ok, which is very placating to Ant's ego and also libido when he gives him a nice, snuggly hand job.

He wakes up in the early evening with Robin snoring against his neck and feels very secure, arms tightening around him as he shifts a little, for the first time in months.

Robin mutters “Stay,” half asleep and of course Ant's going to.

\------

They don't actually put the ink on a contract to each other for a long time, after. But that's just admin, it's the knowing that matters.

 

-fin-

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> title from Alive by NAATIONS
> 
> i want somebody to say it  
> i need to hear it if I'm taking back my life  
> i want somebody to save me  
> i need to know there's a part of me still alive
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 


End file.
